Simply Petunia
by Njuzu
Summary: A simple story about simply being Petunia Dursley. More chapters to come.
1. Prologue

Simply Petunia 

By Njuzu

          It was a day that began like any other day.  I woke up next to my husband.  My big husband.  My big, burly husband.  My big, burly, manly husband.  Oh yes.

          Anyway, it was a normal morning.  I went to the nursery room to check on my handsome baby boy.  I went to the crib and looked at him.  His two adorable eyes began to slowly open at my presence.  My Dudley knows his mommy.

          "Hi sweetie," I cooed while I gave a gentle squeeze on some of the cute baby fat on his pink little cheeks.  He screamed.  He has great lungs.  I stood admiring him as my husband, Vernon, came into the room.  I gave him a pacifier to suck on.  Dudley spat it back out.

          "The boy knows what he wants!" Vernon said, his chest swelling with pride.  "Just like his daddy."  Dudley screamed more.

          "I guess he's hungry," I said .

          "So am I," Vernon stated, "so you should hurry up with that breakfast."  That's my Vernon, always so commanding…so forceful.  I went downstairs immediately, a woman should always listen to her husband, to make breakfast and prepare Dudley's bottle.  I was going to make Vernon's favorite: buttered blueberry pancakes and extra-large eggs with a side of pork sausages, ham, and bacon.  He eats like a real man.  A burly man.  A _really _burly man.

          I went to the drain next to the sink to get Dudley's baby bottle.  It was the kind that was bent at an angle to make it easier to feed him.  Nothing but the best for my Dudley-wudley.  I looked out the window above the sink and saw Mr. Beckham walk out to get his paper.  He was wearing the ugliest green bathrobe I've ever seen in my entire life.  The other day I saw his wife wave goodbye to her children wearing a fluffy pink one with a large yellow duck on the back.  I wrote myself a mental note to expose their nasty dressing habits at the next neighborhood meeting.  Hopefully they will be embarrassed out of their ways.  Maybe they'll even move.  I smiled at this thought and continued to fix Dudley's bottle, watching.  He looked in the general direction of my house and stared at something.  I assumed he was appalled at how my other next-door neighbors, the Stackpoles, decorated their lawn.  A garden gnome, honestly.  

          A few minutes later, Vernon came down with the baby in his arms.  After wrestling Dudley into his high chair, he sat down sturdily in his seat at the head of the table. 

          "Where's my paper?" he demanded.

          "I'll get it, sweetie," I said, taking my eyes away from Beckham.  I walked out of the kitchen and into the living room.  When I reached the door, I straightened my hair and picked lint off of my robe.  _I _always look good when I step outside of my house.  The other neighbors have _nothing to say about me.  I'm the perfect housewife.  I opened the door brandishing a smile taking a deep breath.  And then I looked down._

          Everything became muddled at that point.  I'm pretty sure I screamed because Vernon came running into the room ("What's wrong with you woman!"  Then, "It's just a bloody basket!").  He didn't see it.

          "Can you see?" I asked, pointing at it.  Then IT cooed at me.  Vernon gasped.  I fainted.

          I came to later, in my bed.  The sun peered through my curtains and for a minute, I thought it was just a dream.  But then I heard a baby cry not to far from me (it was nothing like my Dudley's strong yell) and Vernon said, "He's your sister's."  I promptly fainted again.


	2. Woe is I

Simply Petunia

By Njuzu Chapter One:  Woe is I 

          Steam rose out of my tea as a sat on my bed.  I had finally come to and my dear Vernon wasn't going to let me black out again ("It's like you're pretending to die.  You know I hate it when you fake it.").  He sat on a chair beside me, watching.  Obviously I hadn't taken the news too well.  But how was I supposed to react?  I woke up and found a baby on my doorstep.  The neighbors probably saw everything. I would be in the throes of scandal for ages!  On top of that, it belonged to that…_abnormal_ sister of mine.  I always knew she was up to no good.  I said it from the very beginning.  And now the stupid bitch deposited her puppy at my home like I'm some kid of dog pound.  She was always like that.  Running off and leaving me to deal with her mistakes.  She makes me sooo angry.  I hope to God that she gets what she deserves some day. I still can't forgive her for that time she –

          "Petunia?" Vernon said.  He seemed to have something important to say.  And I could tell he was a bit nervous about it.

          "What?" I said, glad that he had stopped my train of thought.  I always get a little worked up when I thought about my sister.

          "There was a letter."

          "A letter where?"

          "With…er…Harry."

          Pause.

          "Does it say where Lily is?  Because there is no way I'm rearing her baby."

          "Er," Vernon said awkwardly.  "Lily's dead.  And so is her husband.  They were killed."

          Pause.

          "Well she deserved it!  After what she did to me…"

          "I'm sure whatever she did to you wasn't enough to-"

          "SHUT UP!" Petunia screamed.  Everything fell silent.  Nothing was heard during the silence except for the sound of my raspy breathing.  After a few moments, "You have no _idea_, no idea what she did to me," I said, her voice dripping with emotion.  "And I refuse to take care of her child."

          "But Petunia-"

          "No."

          "You don't understand-"

          "No.  No!  NO!!  I refuse," I said with a certain finality I didn't know I had.  "I have a headache again.  Leave now."

          Vernon sat there, shocked.  I had never been so forceful with him before.  He was always the dominant one.  He _is_ a robustly brawny man.  He opened his mouth to say something, and then decided against it.  Dejected and distraught, he tossed the letter on my nightstand, and walked out of the room and closed the door.  I sat in my spot, heart racing, trying to control my breathing.  My eyes wandered around the room on their own accord.  They weren't paying attention to me and I didn't heed their direction.  That is, until they settled on something important.

          The window was open!  It was wide open with a gentle breeze blowing the pale blue linen curtains that framed it.  Not too long ago, when I decorated the nursery, I thought it would be good to give the house a lighter look and feel.  The colors would calm me down because there's lots of stress involved with taking care of a baby.  However, the relaxing colors did nothing to mollify me now.  I got out of bed and went to the window, and sure enough Mrs. Stackpole was standing there in her yard listening, accompanied by Mrs. Beckham.  When they saw me looking, they quickly turned the other way and started talking about the strange owls that had appeared everywhere yesterday.  I slammed the window down in frustration and yanked the curtains closed.  I can't believe my horrible luck.  Mrs. Crapyard _and_ Mrs. Uglyrobe heard!  Those two are such nosy gossipmongers, it'll be all over the neighborhood in no time.  I can never deny this now.

          By this time I was furious.  Adrenaline was running wild throughout my body.  I could hear the blood pumping through my veins.  I decided to count to ten.  1.  2.  3.   Oh piss it.  That's not going to bloody work.  I breathed deeply, filling my lungs to their capacity and exhaling slowly.  That did help a bit.  I guess I can stay cool under fire.  I walked to the bathroom that was attached to my room.  I picked up one of the paper cups I keep in the bathroom and filled it with water from the sink.  After I drank, I looked at myself in the mirror, straight in my own eyes.  I expected to see a strong woman, steadfast and resolute.  But instead I saw a woman that looked like she was about to go psycho.  And I did.

          Screaming, I threw my cup at the mirror.  Frustrated at the fact that the mirror didn't break (the cup _was_ just paper) I screamed even more.  I wrenched the medicine cabinet open, looking for something to break.  I took a bottle of my favorite perfume, L'eau Maison.  I tossed it through the bathroom window.  I didn't even care if the meddlesome ladies heard anymore.  I hope the bottle hit one of them in the head.  "BITCH!!!" I screamed at the top of my lungs.  And then, I felt better.

*

          "Done," I said as a put down my makeup brush.  Since my anxiety attack began to relieve some of my tension, I took a nice long shower to get rid of the rest.  I stood with the hot water cascading against me for at least half an hour.  I was now completely calm.  I sat down on my bed to think about what I was going to do next.  Maybe I should put It up for adoption.  Or maybe Marge, Vernon's sister, could bring him up.  Yes, I was very calm.

          Well, at least I was for a while.  But then I read the letter.

I turned and picked it up from the nightstand.  I studied it as I turned it around in my fingers.  It was a strange letter.  The envelope was made out of what looked like yellowed parchment.  On the front, _Mr. and Mrs. Vernon Dursley_ was written in green ink.  I opened it with my perfectly manicured nails (Thank you very much, sir) and pulled out a sheet of parchment.  I opened it slowly and read the contents.

*

          Another bottle of perfume soared out of the window, followed by the sound of my screams.   I didn't feel better this time.  I couldn't believe it.  I _had_ to take care of Harry.  There was no way I could get around it, now.  Why me?  Why was it always me?  All I ever wanted was a normal life.  To have a normal sister and a normal childhood that would grow into a normal womanhood with a normal family.  Instead I get…my life.  How depressing.  I sat back down on my bed.  It _was_ depressing.  My anger packed his bags and left.  His cousin depression came in to stay next.  I sighed sadly as a tear rolled down my cheek.  What luck.  _Quelle chance._

          After a couple of hours of crying, being melancholy, and drowning in a salty sea of self-pity, I got up.  I marched out of the room down the hall into the nursery and up to Vernon, who was changing the diaper that was on It (yes, that is what I will be calling him for a while).  

I looked at my poor neglected Dudleykins, unattended and alone.  I could see the pattern beginning at that moment.  This boy would take away all the care and attention from my Dudley.  Well I decided that I wouldn't have that happen.  From that second on I would make sure my Dudley received more attention that It.  Then it hit me.  I had to take care of the child, but I didn't have to take care of it like one of my own.

"We're keeping the child," I said to Vernon.  He started a bit, because I don't think he heard me coming.  No one hardly ever hears me coming.  I'm not a very big woman.  In fact, I'm a very small, svelte, slender woman.  However, that doesn't really matter at this moment.

"What made you change your mind?" Vernon said, almost timidly.  I suspect he was still quite shaken from my outbursts.

"The letter.  I suggest you read it later so you can be caught up with the situation.  However, he will not be in the nursery with my Dudley.  In fact," I continued as inspiration came, "he will be staying in the cupboard underneath the staircase."

"Don't you think it is just a bit cruel-" Vernon began.

"Just read the letter," I cut in.  "I'm sure you'll agree with me after you read what it says."

*

          By the end of the day, the cupboard was cleared, dusted, and turned into a makeshift nursery.  Vernon didn't like my treatment of the boy, but he changed his mind later on.  However, there still was the fact that I had to take care of him.  I didn't want to touch the boy.  Vernon told me to deal with it ("Suck it up, woman."), and pretty soon things went back to normal.  I told the girls at the neighborhood meeting that I had to baby-sit my sister's son for a while and that's why a baby was on my doorstep; soon the rumors died down and were forgotten.  Then time marched on. 

*****

Next Chapter: Mrs. Figg and the Flying Breadbox

Authoress' Notes:  Thanks to Lorelei Wood, DeAtHzLuLaByY, AngelsAngel, QTPie-2488, Spordelia Chase, Kristal Scarlett Sparklin, ReeraTheRed, and Aragornrocks for reviewing the prologue to this story.  Hopefully, you'll review this one too.


	3. Mrs Figg and the Flying Breadbox

Simply Petunia 

By Njuzu

Chapter Two: The Flying Breadbox and Mrs. Figg   


RING.

          My alarm clock went off precisely at 7:00 in the morning.  I pressed the snooze button and got out of bed.  I took a quick shower, brushed my teeth, washed my face, and changed into my clothes for the day.  I applied my makeup and brushed my delicately blonde hair.   The alarm went off again at 7:15.  Vernon got up and walked to the bathroom to start his routine.  I continued mine.

          I walked down the hall to Dudley's room.  I tiptoed in and lightly touched him.  "It's time to wake up, dear."

          "Just five more minutes." he said.

          "You'll be late for school.  You need the time to eat."

          "Please mommy…" he began.

          "Get up, and that's final."  I hurried out of the room.  I still can't resist my Ickle Duddey-Bunny's cute face.

          I went to go make breakfast downstairs.  As I walked by the cupboard underneath the stairs, I rapped on the door.

          "UP!" I screamed on my way to the kitchen.  I started to cook breakfast.  It would be a light one today: waffles, eggs, and fruit.  Vernon had gone to the doctor yesterday and he said Vernon should cut back on his food.  Today, I planned to go down there and protest.  He was a brawny man.  He needed brawny meals.  Harry walked into the room.

          "Hi Auntie," he said, hopefully.  You think he would have gotten it by then that I didn't answer back.  Sure, maybe he was only five, but my Dudbaby would have figured it out by then.  He sat in Dudley's booster seat dejectedly.

          "Get off of that seat right now!" I said, when I saw.  "You know that's Dudley's."

          He got down to get his usual stack of phone books when I had an idea.

          "I want you to make the toast today," I instructed.  "Do you know how?"  He nodded eagerly and went to the bread box.

"I – can't – reach – it!" he said, jumping to reach the handle.  I told him to work harder.  "Auntie!  Auntie, lookit!"  Of course I ignored him.

          Moments later, Vernon walked into the room reading his paper.  "The government has gone mad, I tell you," he started.  But he quickly stopped when he saw what was happening.  "DEAR BLOODY HELL!" he screamed.  I turned around and saw what all the cursing was for.

          Harry was making the loaf of bread float through the air.

          At first I stood in shock, with my mouth wide open, I'm sure.  But then I dashed to him and snatched the loaf out of the air.  I sank to the floor clutching the loaf to my chest.  I could barely breathe.  I looked up to Vernon, wide-eyed.

          His face was extremely pale.  But then it turned bright red.  "Come here, boy" he said as he stalked toward Harry.  Harry backed away as Vernon inched nearer, his face turning a shade of blue.  "Come HERE!" he yelled as he ran toward the boy.

          "Eek!" Harry squeaked as he scampered out of the door into the parlor.  For a couple of minutes I heard telltale cursing, crashing, and screaming.  I threw down the loaf of bread and walked out into the living room as Harry loped through the door.

          Vernon, who was now a dark purple, said, "He's a fast little bugger."  Then, "Watch out for that old lady!"

          I got to the door just in time to see Harry crash into some poor old woman.  Vernon and I both stood dumbfounded.  Harry burst out crying, but the old woman smiled and said something to him as she stood up.  I walked out alongside Vernon to her.  I was thoroughly embarrassed.  Just when the neighborhood had forgotten about him, he goes and crashes into an old lady.

          "I apologize with the deepest sincerity," I said to her when I arrived.

          "You must excuse our nephew, he's…hyperactive.  Yes, that's it.  We usually don't let him out of the house because he always causes _problems,"_ Vernon stated.

          "It's no problem at all," she said kindly.  She sighed.  "It's going to be a long walk home," she said, limping away.

          "Wait!," I said, jogging to her.  "Please, come in.  Have a cup of tea with us."  Better to have her drink tea and be happy than sue us.

          She thought about it for a while.  Then, her face lit up.  "I think I'd like that.  I'd like that a lot."

*

          The old dame and I were sitting in the parlor, tea in hands.  Vernon had taken Dudley to school and gone to work.  I stayed to take care of the old woman.

          "I want to apologize again," I said passing her the cream.  "Ms…er"

          "Figg," she said.  "Mrs. Figg."

          "Nice to meet you Mrs. Figg."

          "Same here," she took a sip thoughtfully.  "Your son-"

          "He's not my son," I said quickly.  "He's a nephew.  Like Vernon said, he's very hyperactive.  We could have gone of a vacation to Majorca by now if it wasn't for him."

          "Well, if you ever need someone to watch him, I'll be happy to do it."

          I was stunned.  That was exactly what I needed.  Someone to throw the rascal upon when we needed time away from him.  From the memory of my dreadful sister.

          "That'll be great!  In fact, it's Dudley's birthday next week."

          "Who's Dudley?"

          "He's my son," I said, becoming happier just _thinking_ about him.  "He's adorable.  He has the cutest little face, and lovely blonde hair.  It's like mine, only more _golden_ –"

          "You were talking about his birthday," Mrs. Figg interjected.

          "Right.  Would you watch Harry for us then?"

          "I'd be delighted to."

          Then, we continued to have a lovely tea.

*

          I told Vernon the news when he got home.

          "That's great!" he said.  "But that doesn't solve all of our problems.  What are we going to do about his – er – _abnormality_."

          "Ignore it," I said promptly. 

          "I don't think we should ignore this-"

          "Well, I think we should," I said.  "It was a freak accident.  It could have happened to anyone."

          "But what if it happens again?"

          "Then we'll take more drastic measures."

******

Notes:  Thank you to all the reviewers for your continued support.  You have my thanks and admiration.


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